Macy Beckett - Make You Mine

“And you’ve grown.” Which she hadn’t thought was possible. “Where’ve you been?”

Beau lifted one massive shoulder and ran a meaty hand over his buzz cut. “Joined the marines. They kept me fed.”

And how.

“What’s new with Dev?” Though he kept a hold on his lazy smile, Beau folded his arms protectively across his chest and held his breath while waiting for her answer.

So Allie made him wait a few more beats. “She’s meaner than a sack full of rattlers, thanks to you.”

That wiped the grin off his face.

“Uh, Allie,” Ella-Claire said. “Meet our new head cook.”

Allie couldn’t help laughing. She wondered what Devyn would say when she discovered that Beau Dumont was not only back from the dead, but working in the Belle’s galley. She’d probably ask Allie to perform an “accidental” vasectomy with a dull butter knife.

“What’s funny?” Beau asked, opening his arms to hug Ella-Claire.

Ella smiled up at him while wrapping her arms around his waist. “Allie’s your pastry chef.”

That slippery grin lifted one corner of Beau’s mouth. Keeping Ella tucked against his chest, he slung his other arm around Allie, then towed them both toward the boat ramp.

“Now, ain’t that somethin’?” he said with pure sin in his voice. “I always wanted my very own pastry chef.”

Marc stood near the second-floor lounge window and watched Beau strut on board the Belle like he owned everything in his wake—including the two women squashed to his sides. Marc felt a headache pressing the walls of his temples, and he reminded himself to unclench his jaw. He’d have to jerk a knot in Beau’s tail, and soon. The wily SOB had some nerve blowing into town and moving in on Marc’s kid sister as well as his . . . well, his Allie.

He didn’t know how else to label her.

Allie wasn’t his girl, but he couldn’t deny she was a lot more than an employee. He’d drifted into uncharted waters with her, someplace beyond simple lust but outside the boundaries of a relationship. They had no claim on each other, but damned if that meant he liked seeing her in another man’s arms, least of all those of his asshole brother. Marc wanted Allie for himself, but he didn’t want to want her.

It was fifty shades of fucked up.

Worse than that, she’d stolen his mojo, making it impossible for him to enjoy other women. When Nora had paid him a surprise visit that morning, he should have led the flame-haired vixen to his suite and released a week’s worth of sexual tension.

But he couldn’t do it.

The moment she’d thrown her arms around his neck, his body had rejected her like an old splinter. She’d felt all wrong pressed up against him, and she stank of stale cigarettes—something that had never bothered Marc before. Now it was a complete deal breaker. Nora didn’t smell like sweet cinnamon. She didn’t taste of clean honeydew.

Because she wasn’t Allie.

“Up shit creek without a paddle,” he muttered to himself.

He focused again on Beau, who’d just leaned down to take a bite of Ella-Claire’s ice-cream cone. Cocky as ever. At least Ella had the good sense to give it to him afterward instead of sharing it. Allie glared at Beau as if warning him away from her ice cream, then ducked out from beneath his arm.

Good girl.

Marc grinned and turned away from the window. It was time for a little family reunion.

When he reached the galley, he found the door propped open by a twenty-pound canister of flour, so he paused a moment to gain his bearings.

In other words, to spy. No shame in that.

Beau was alone with Allie, but neither spoke as they busied themselves gathering ingredients for the evening meal. Despite the companionable silence in the kitchen, Marc sensed clear tension in their movements. Something in the wide berth they gave each other and the stiff set of their bodies reassured him that Beau hadn’t succeeded in hooking Allie with that sticky “charm” of his.

Yet.

Beau had a way of wearing folks down. Marc knew firsthand. By way of introduction, Marc leaned against the doorjamb and folded his arms, then cleared his throat.

Allie glanced at him as a smile formed and simultaneously died on her lips. With a huff, she narrowed her mismatched eyes and turned her back on him, then flung her raven curls over one shoulder to rub it in. Marc suspected a certain redheaded waitress had put a burr in Allie’s bra, but he kept mum on the subject and nodded a greeting at his big brother.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Marc said.

Beau’s ugly mug split into a grin so wide it crinkled the tanned skin around his eyes. The reaction stunned Marc into a beat of silence. He’d seen a lot of smiles cross his brother’s face—the I’m faster than you, the I ate the last cookie, and the ever-popular I’m gonna pound on you when Dad’s not looking—but this one said I’m glad you’re here.

That couldn’t be right.

“Well, look at you.” Beau wiped his hands on a dishtowel and scanned Marc from the bill of his white captain’s hat to the tips of his polished black dress shoes. He shook his head in appreciation. “I don’t know whether to hug your neck or salute you, little brother.”

Neither of those options appealed to Marc. He extended his right hand, and Beau strode forward to shake it, his grasp firm but not overbearing. They pumped hands while sizing each other up. Beau appeared to have found four inches of height and twenty pounds of muscle while he’d been away. Marc wondered where his brother had been since he’d left the marines a couple years ago, but he didn’t bother to ask. If Beau had wanted him to know, he’d have called or e-mailed.

Which he hadn’t.

Finally the giant stepped back and nodded at Marc’s black eye. “I believe you had a shiner the last time I saw you, too.”

“Other eye,” Marc said. “You’re the one who’d given it to me.”

Beau chuckled quietly to himself. “That’s right. And you broke my nose.”

Damn straight. That fight was the first time Marc had dished out more than he’d taken, disrupting the pecking order in their daddy’s household for once. Marc grinned at the slight bend of his brother’s nose.

“What were we even fighting about?” Beau asked.

Marc remembered like it was yesterday. Beau had been horsing around on the dock with his idiot friends and thought it would be fun to trash Marc’s mama to score a few laughs. He’d said Your mama’s so broke, when she goes to KFC she’s got to lick other people’s fingers. But his big brother hadn’t talked any smack after that—kind of hard to do with blood gushing out of his nostrils. Every decent man knew better than to insult another guy’s mother.

Besides, he and his mama weren’t that poor.

Marc shrugged. “Don’t remember.”

“Probably something stupid,” Beau said.

“Probably,” Marc agreed.

A few beats passed in awkward silence before Beau changed the subject. “I talked to Daddy last month.” He sniffed a laugh. “Is he really having another baby?”

“Yep,” Marc said. “They’re due around Christmas.”

Beau stroked his jaw in disbelief, though Marc didn’t see why he was surprised. This was par for the course when it came to their daddy. “When I left,” Beau said, “Jack was still in training pants. I figured that’d be the last kid.”

Jack? Marc furrowed his brow until understanding dawned. “Oh. We call him Worm. He’s fourteen now—busing tables for the first time. I’ll introduce you later.”

“Appreciate that.”

Allie made a noise of exasperation, standing on tiptoe to retrieve a stainless steel bowl beyond her reach. Just as Marc made a move to help her, Beau clopped over in two mammoth strides and plucked it from the shelf, then handed it over with a smile. Which she reciprocated with a bit too much warmth for Marc’s liking.

His headache made a sudden reappearance. Before thinking better of it, he announced, “Miss Mauvais, I need a word with you in the hall.”

She didn’t reply. Instead, she ignored him and bent over to study a recipe card on the counter. Marc gave her a few seconds to acknowledge his request, and when she refused, he repeated himself more firmly. He wasn’t about to let her disrespect his authority—not in front of Beau, who’d lead the crew into mutiny if given an inch.

But Allie only hummed an indistinct tune and sashayed to the pantry for a bin of confectioner’s sugar. She didn’t even spare a glance in his direction.

Marc gritted his teeth. If she thought he’d let this go, she was dead wrong.

“Allie,” Beau said, resting an oversized hand on her shoulder. When she acknowledged his existence, Beau gave her a playful look and a squeeze. “The captain wants you. I think he needs to talk to you, too.”

What an ass.

She huffed a sigh and threw down her bowl scraper, muttering to herself in Creole. Still refusing to meet Marc’s gaze, she stalked across the galley and brushed past him into the hall.

Beau chuckled and began dicing a clove of garlic. “You must be losing your touch, little brother. They don’t fall at your feet like they used to.”

“Please,” Marc said with a sneer. “Let’s bring her sister on board and see how well you run your game.”

That shut his piehole.

Marc followed Allie’s trail of sweet perfume. When he didn’t find her in the service hallway behind the galley, he continued to the utility stairwell and pulled open the door. There she was, stewing on the third step with both hands gripping her hips. She glared at him hard enough to melt his face, Raiders of the Lost Ark style.